


A Frank Discussion

by MrsSaxon



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: But isn't that true of all of Kastle?, F/M, Fluff, Isn't there always?, Kastle Christmas Secret Santa Gift Exchange, Post-Finale, Reunion, Well crying at least, a brief interlude, kastle - Freeform, there's crying and hugging, this is sadder than I meant it to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 12:05:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13123380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsSaxon/pseuds/MrsSaxon
Summary: For harrumphandhuzzah on tumblrKaren hasn't seen Frank since the elevator. When he finally comes round to her place, she doesn't know whether to scream, cry, or kiss him. Probably all three.





	A Frank Discussion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fervidflowering](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fervidflowering/gifts).



It was well past Thanksgiving before Karen saw Frank again.

It was hard to describe how she was feeling in all that time. At first, it felt routine. It was, by now, her day-in, day-out standard to not know how Frank was doing at any given time. She had made peace with that worry, or tried to. But this was after the searing pain of watching him go, followed by the bone-deep exhaustion hitting her all at once of everything that had happened since she got up that morning. And she did remember stumbling home that night and falling into a weepy heap on her bed, too tired to do anything but cry. But the next day she got up, dusted herself off, put the roses out, and went to work as usual. There was nothing so different about today that necessitated her routine changing. So, she’d seen Frank Castle yesterday, so she’d been near him, held him, watched him bleed, and told him to run. But that was no different from really any other day as she kept up the lie of Frank’s life all the time.

No, at first all was normal. But then he didn’t show. For days he didn’t show. She put the roses out every day, waiting for him, hoping for him. She went down to the pier most days, early in the morning when she could, late at night when she couldn’t. Every jogger in a hoodie made her heart beat faster. Every dry laugh she caught on the wind, every thump of a heavy boot, but it was never him. And it began to eat at her, not seeing him for so long. She’d grown used to the idea that she could reach him, if she wanted. She’d grown to expect that danger and comfort in her life. She felt loss without it. Not lost, just… loss.

The fact that there was no arrest report on the news made it even worse. No arrest report wasn’t necessarily bad… but it wasn’t necessarily good either. There was nothing, either way, to confirm whether he was alive or dead. And Karen had taken pains to pore over every outlet, snatching police reports as soon as they came in in a way that made Ellison’s eyes widen. She knew he suspected, he more than suspected, and she was getting worse at lying to him. But if Frank’s name was in those reports, she didn’t care who knew that she cared. But Frank’s name was never mentioned. Nor was his picture shown. The Punisher was finally the ghost everyone else knew him to be.

That’s why, when he showed up weeks later, fresh and healthy at her door, she nearly screamed. Her hand went to her mouth to abort the sound, horrified, startled, and relieved at once. Her heart spasmed, failing to control the flood of emotions. Frank, as if he had some idea of what she must be feeling, ducked his head and sheepishly stepped inside, closing her door quietly.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh,” he murmured, then wrapped a hand around her waist, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he’d been doing it for ages, and led her to her sofa where she could sit down. He sat down too, grasping the wooden chair behind him and pulling up close to her. He clasped his hands in front of him, rubbing them together, waiting for her to make the first move.

“Frank,” was all she could say and her voice was still a wet shriek. She stared at him, even though he was a blurry, watercolor painting now, all blotches of flesh and dark and shadow, softening the hard lines and battle scars until they were nonexistent. It took a few more moments for her to get herself together.

As she wiped her eyes, she began, “Where do I even start?” She coughed a sad laugh. “Last time I saw you, you were mangled and bleeding and climbing out of an elevator to escape from police and then… nothing. Just, dead silence. For weeks. For weeks, Frank.” She finally looked at him again and found his wincing expression satisfying.

“I’ve been leaving the flowers out,” she pointed to the window, eyes on Frank as he pulled his head up to look where she pointed, “Every day. Hoping, praying I’d hear some word of you. I mean, what was I supposed to think?!”

“I know,” Frank nodded, facing her carpet, “I know, I didn’t… I should have-”

“You could have been arrested, you could have been dead!” Karen gulped, her voice breaking, “And I didn’t… I would never know what-”

“Karen,” Frank broke in and took her hand. Again, like instinct, again, like he’d taken it a thousand times before.

Karen fell silent, words stopped in her throat at his touch. She stared down at their hands, his so warm, so delicate despite the years of abuse. He must have taken good care of them. He must have prized tenderness so much, he wanted to keep it in his hands. She started crying afresh.

Frank made some sort of strange, strangled sound, unidentifiable as language, and before she could look up to see his face, he’d stepped off the chair to throw his arms around her. Karen sobbed into him, grateful for his protective shell, grateful that, for once, there was no threat, no bombs, no bullets, no police, and they might at last hold each other as long as they wanted. Karen sobbed with abandon, so much so that she didn’t notice for a long time that Frank was crying too.

They subsided into quiet breathing together, still clasped. Karen let herself press her face into his warm collarbone, let herself hug her arms around him. Just as she was thinking that she hadn’t been held like this, really held, in so long, Frank squeezed tighter, bringing a little gasp out of her.

“Oh, sorry,” he rumbled, voice thick from crying. He loosened his grip, pulling back.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Karen murmured, but looked up to see his face again. He looked surprised that she wanted to look at him and, moreover, he looked as devastated as she was sure she looked too. There were tracks of tears running down his clean-shaven face, leaving him in red blotches. Karen’s hands moved to his shoulders, then neared his face, wanting to erase the paths. She hesitated, then settled her hands against his neck instead, letting her thumbs rub the hard line of his jaw. Frank swallowed and relaxed into it, letting her take the weight of his head. His eyes almost closed as her hands cradled him.

Karen swallowed. “It’s good to see you,” she sighed, “but I’m still mad you didn’t show up until now.” She tried to smile as Frank raised his eyes again.

“Mmm, about that,” Frank started, lifting himself off the floor and swinging over to sit next to her on the sofa this time, managing to do so without losing touch with her, “…I’m a free man.”

Karen shook herself. “You’re what? What do you mean?” She squinted at him, hands curling tight in his.

“A lot’s happened.” And from Frank’s face, the way he looked away from her, Karen could tell he didn’t want to talk about it. “But I cut a deal with the Justice Department, Madani put in a good word for me. I’m free.” He looked back at her again, a little smile coming back.

There were a million questions Karen longed to ask, all forming in a frown on her face.

“I know there’s a lot you want to ask,” Frank was already saying, “and I’ll tell you as much as I can. But I wanted you to know that first. So you don’t have to put out those flowers anymore.” He smiled at her, warm and amused, like she never saw him smile. It was so hard to be mad at him when he looked like that.

Karen bit her lip to keep from smiling back and looked down, deciding what to ask first. She inhaled deeply when she made up her mind and raised her head again, “Why did it take you so long to come see me?”

Frank shuffled his feet and looked away. “I wasn’t sure you-”

“Bullshit, Frank,” Karen snapped, shaking her head. She squeezed his hand and waited for him to answer again.

“…it hurt,” his voice was so soft when he said it, “it hurt so much wanting to see you.”

Karen took a deep breath and swallowed.

“I thought I’d fall apart before I got to your door. Knew I’d be a wreck when I saw you. But I wanted to have something for you before I saw you. I wanted to be more than what I was.” He was looking into the distance, a clear picture in his mind. Karen wondered what he saw, a void, a killer, a broken man trying to heal. He’d never been just those things to Karen though. If anything, he was just Frank.

When Karen returned to the present, she saw that Frank was looking at her now, a question in his brow.

“You were never just the Punisher to me, Frank,” Karen explained, nodding.

Frank dropped his eyes. “You deserve more than that though,” he mumbled. “I’ve got a job now,” he said, louder, “dock work. It doesn’t pay much, but it keeps me busy.” He winked at her. “And I’ve been going to group therapy.”

Karen raised her eyebrows. “Does it help?”

“Yeah, yeah it does,” he nodded, thinking about it, “It doesn’t… I mean, it doesn’t help it stop hurting, but… I see my stories helping others. I see their relief to know they’re not alone and that you can live through the worst fucking thing to ever happen to you and come out the other side and… I may look like shit, but I’m here.” He took a deep breath. “And that helps, that helps a lot. Thinking I’m a comfort to those guys.”

Karen started to smile. “I’m glad. And I’m not surprised either.”

Frank raised an eyebrow, frowning at her.

“You’re a comfort to me too, Frank,” she smirked, “There are… things I can tell you I can’t tell anyone else.” She glanced over at her purse by the door, where her gun stayed. Frank saw her looking and looked too.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he answered.

“Mmm,” Karen shook her head, needing to get off that subject and the questions it might lead to, “so… you’re a free man? How’s that work?”

Frank leaned back and sighed, taking one of his hands away to scratch his scalp. “Well, after a series of dramatic events where I might have saved Agent Madani’s life again,” Karen widened her eyes meaningfully, but Frank ignored her, “Madani swung total immunity for me for my past crimes. Got me a new identity and everything. I’m uh… Pete Castiglioni now.” He squinted at her, waiting for her to laugh.

She did. “Castiglioni, isn’t that just Italian for Castle?” she sniggered.

“Hey, I didn’t choose it,” Frank shrugged, biting his cheek to keep from smiling.

“So are you Pete now? Should I be calling you Pete?” Karen cocked her head, parodying intrigue.

Frank rolled his eyes. “Come on, no, it’s Frank. I like Frank.” He passed a smile to her.

“Good, because I was never going to call you Pete.” Karen grinned, then fell silent as one last question loomed before them. “So… you can’t be prosecuted for your past crimes, but…” Karen hesitated, looking at him carefully. Frank straightened up under her gaze, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Karen took a deep breath and swallowed. “What about the Punisher?”

There was a beat of silence before Frank answered. “What about him?”

“You can’t-” Karen bit her tongue and tried to think how to phrase this best. “You have to make a decision,” she said as diplomatically as she could.

Frank turned to her, face closed and hard for the first time. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Frank! You can’t-” Karen stopped herself again, taking her hand away from his and kneading her knee in irritation. “I don’t want to tell you what you should do.”

“Then don’t,” Frank shook his head, “it’s not your choice.”

“God damn it, Frank,” Karen hissed under her breath. She turned away from him, hugging herself into the couch. Her fingers tapped and scratched restlessly, all her comfort boiling away into frustration.

“What?” Frank, however, followed her, turning more towards her, “hey, what? You think I should stop?”

“I think you should consider it,” Karen bit out, trying to keep her voice even.

“How do you know I haven’t?” Frank countered.

“Well?” Karen looked up at him, “Have you? What’s your decision then?” She shrugged, waiting.

Frank turned away again, his hands nested in front of him.

“ _God_ damn it, Frank,” Karen groaned, louder this time, “You come here, you tell me you’re getting your life together, I think you’re finally starting to heal, and then you can’t answer me when I ask you about the Punisher. God _damn_ it, Frank!”

“Hey, you think this is easy for me? It’s not!” Frank snapped, “You think I don’t know this hurts you? You think I want to hurt you?”

Karen stopped and swallowed. “Well, then that’s the rub isn’t it? You don’t want to hurt me and I don’t want to tell you what to do. So where does that leave the Punisher?” She looked at him, but Frank wouldn’t answer her.

Karen slowly looked away again as the silence drew on and it became obvious Frank wasn’t going to answer in any form. She took a deep breath and pushed her hair back, steadying herself to try again. “I know why the Punisher exists,” she began, looking out at her coffee table, but seeing a hospital room long ago, “and I even think… I even think he’s done some good,” she heard herself say, not looking up when she felt Frank move. “But,” she forced herself to continue, “the Punisher is not sustainable.”

She finally turned to Frank again, but focused on his hands, those soft hands resting before her. She lowered her voice, “Even if you’re only killing the people that need to be killed and even if you don’t get caught, you’re still killing yourself, Frank. And I can’t sit by and watch that. Don’t expect me to.” She didn’t dare look up at his face.

Frank reached for her first before saying anything. He put a hand on her shoulder, under her soft hair, and squeezed the strength she carried there. Then he dropped his hand to her lap and said softly, “I know I’ve done a lot of dying and I don’t want any more of it. But, Karen, I can’t promise you I’m done. I can’t.” And when she looked up at him, he had that wide, innocent look in his eyes like he had when he was painfully sincere about something. Here he was sincere about how much it pained him not to promise her. How much it pained him that he knew he couldn’t stop yet.

Karen nodded and lowered her eyes. “Yeah. I know.” She heaved a big breath, but looked up again as she said, “Your name might have changed, but you’re still Frank Castle. You wouldn’t give up, even if it would save your life.” She smiled, but it was bitter, and he smiled too, but it was heartbroken.

Karen ducked her head and scooted up next to him, curling into his strong frame like it was all she wanted in the world. “Just stay safe, please. And don’t be a stranger. You don’t even have to skulk around now; you’re a free man.”

Frank let his arm come down around her, hugging her to his side. “Yeah, that’s new. I could even take you on a proper date, huh?”

Karen let herself smile. “Is this a date? Normally, our dates are all gunfire and explosions; I’m disappointed, Frank.”

“Mmm, well how about next time I bring my Glock and you bring your .380 and I’ll take you to a shooting range, huh? Will that satisfy your taste for fire power, you gun nut?” He grinned at her, glowing, charming, irresistible.

Karen grinned back. It was terrible sadness knowing this wouldn’t last. But she’d be damned if she was going to let that ruin her taste of his freedom.


End file.
